


Sleeping Beauty

by Elliott042116 (orphan_account)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Established Relationship, F/F, Library Sex, Modern Setting Clarke Griffin/Lexa, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-23 23:00:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20348239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Elliott042116
Summary: After a long day of classes, Lexa is eager to finally see her girlfriend’s face. But when she finds Clarke asleep in the library, Lexa simply can’t resist getting down on her knees to show the other girl exactly how much she means to her... Exposed location be damned… Will Clarke be able to contain her surprise at this unexpected, and very public, show of affection?





	Sleeping Beauty

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys enjoy!

The light is falling in long shadows across the quad as Lexa makes her way toward the university library. Her evening lab ran late and the moment when she will finally get to collapse into a lumpy, study center chair and hear about her girlfriend’s day now feels long overdue. Lexa swipes into the Gothic Revival building and weaves through the reference stacks in the direction of the periodicals room, where Clarke likes to sit in the afternoons because of the large stained-glass window that casts a warm glow over everything.

As Lexa ducks under the arched entryway, she scans the tables full of students bent over their laptops, looking for the flash of blonde hair that always seems to court her eye even from across campus. It has done so, in fact, since the first week of freshman year, when its owner was still a nameless and unattainable—if undeniably gorgeous—stranger whose every move couldn’t help but attract Lexa’s admiring gaze.

And suddenly there she is — Clarke — framed in the dim light filtering through the window at her back, with a look of complete and utter serenity on her face. The outline of her head, slumped forward on her arms and open organic chemistry book, flickers luminously from purple to orange and back again. As Lexa approaches, it dawns on her that the other girl is very much asleep.

Lexa notices a mug at Clarke’s elbow, which she recognizes from the rack in Octavia’s apartment kitchen. As she passes the rows of study tables between her and the insensible form at the far end of the room, Lexa can see what look like the dregs of Raven’s infamously strong coffee caking the bottom of the ceramic cup. Clearly it had not served its purpose.

Lexa stops across from Clarke. Her girlfriend is so beautiful that she feels a quick stab behind her ribs, followed immediately by a twist down lower in her gut. Even as Lexa thinks of nudging the blonde awake, an insistent heat starts to build in her core and snake up through her abdomen. She bites her lip. Clarke turns her on like no one else.

Lexa knows she’s a lucky woman. Her girlfriend is the kindest, most compassionate, and formidable person she knows. Clarke works so hard. Even at rest against a page discussing heterocyclic compounds and polymers, Clarke’s features are both strong and delicate, determined and vulnerable. Transfixed by that radiant openness, and by the way the sleeping girl’s hair spills out across her shoulders, Lexa is struck by a sudden and overwhelming urge to get down on her knees and show Clarke that she is… is… well, quite literally everything.

The impulse breaks over her like a wave and Lexa finds herself completely at its mercy. She curls forward involuntarily, one hand on the wood of the table, bending to the moment’s unexpected urgency, to her desire to make Clarke’s whole body thrum with sweet electricity in answer to the rapid pumping of her own heart.

Lexa glances around the room, trying to ground herself in space and time, but the handful of students hunched over their work—all engrossed in their own worlds—does nothing to quash the feeling that has risen so quickly within her, inapposite though it may be. Giving in to the rush of heat still thrilling through her extremities, she swings her backpack off her shoulder, deposits it in the chair opposite Clarke, and then discretely sinks to the floor.

With one final look over her shoulder, Lexa lifts the skirt of the study table by one of its broad pleats and, in a single sure motion, slides underneath and out of view. As Lexa's eyes adjust to the low light, Clarke’s feet—crossed at the ankles and poking under the skirt from the other side of the table—gradually come into focus. Blood rushes loudly in her ears. 

Lexa draws a shaky breath into her lungs and, thankful that the other girl chose to sit with her back to the wall, she slowly raises the skirting fabric from Clarke’s feet up into her lap, where it pools heavily. Lexa sits back on her heels to consider her next move and her gaze is dragged, as if by magnetic force, to the apex of Clarke’s legs. On a practical level, she feels grateful that, under her oversized Arkadia hoodie, Clarke is still wearing the little blue dress with the buttons that she had on earlier today. Something more constricting might have given Lexa pause in her current position.

After a beat, Lexa gently uncrosses her girlfriend’s ankles, lifting her feet one by one to spread them just beyond hip width. Clarke doesn’t so much as stir.

Lexa has to remind herself to breathe. The sight before her is so perfect. Clarke’s legs splay out forming a diamond shape in front of her — thin strip of black cotton on full display in the shadow between her thighs. Lexa squeezes her own folded legs together, though it does little to relieve the tension building at the thought of what she gets to do next.

She places her hand on Clarke’s knee first, slowly trailing her fingers along the inside of the sleeping girl’s thigh, which compulsively shivers in response. When Lexa reaches her destination, she moves the cotton obstruction aside.

She inhales sharply, breathing out onto Clarke’s exposed vulva, and immediately feels an answering heat across her face. Lexa closes her eyes and licks her lips, which suddenly feel dry. And then she leans in.

Lexa knows—with a certainty that used to scare her in the early days of their relationship—that she will never get enough of the taste of Clarke on her tongue. This insatiable appetite initially alarmed her. The need felt almost like a physical vacuum that could not be filled. But the more time she spent loving Clarke, and being loved by her, the more Lexa felt herself becoming whole, as if the parts of herself rearranged themselves into a configuration Lexa had never imagined possible. And it felt right and immutable. And she saw no use in denying that she had fallen hard.

Clarke is getting wet. She whimpers quietly for the third or fourth time and shifts in her sleep. If Lexa focuses on it, she can feel Clarke’s pulse throbbing through the hot slickness between her legs. And then, all of a sudden, she detects a subtle change in the pressure of Clarke’s thighs on either side of her head… She feels the muscles engage.

As Clarke comes to, she makes a disoriented sound—a low, drawn out groan—not necessarily distinguishable from the yawn of someone stirring from a nap. The real-time predicament that Lexa has landed them in would, not so long ago, have been inconceivable to her—which is to say that it would, without question, have remained a fantasy destined never to see the light of day—but Clarke likes this wild, reckless streak in Lexa and has consistently encouraged it in the past. 

As Clarke really and truly wakes up, becoming aware of her surroundings, she lets out a breathless gasp. Lexa stills for a second, and then, sure enough, Clarke’s strong legs clamp down hard around her ears and she feels her girlfriend’s hands discreetly sink into her hair under the table.

The pressure, Clarke’s heady smell, and the heat on her face propel Lexa on. She feels an almost feverish exhilaration. She never wants to stop. Ever. Surroundings be damned. Lexa has a forceful grip on Clarke’s hips to keep them from lifting off the seat. Everything else melts away… the sound of pencils on paper, the tapping of keyboards. She is completely lost in the fog of her own hunger. 

Then a loud noise breaks though the buzzing in her head. It is a moan. A loud moan. And this time, there is much less room for confusion. Lexa can hear the sound of bodies shifting as the other occupants of the room turn in the direction of Clarke’s table, searching for the source of the inexplicable, though fairly unmistakable noise. She even makes out a few chuckles and some whispering.

Lexa pictures Clarke’s cheeks flaming with heat, her chest flushed the delicious rosy shade that means she has surrendered herself entirely to pleasure. She has to clench her legs together as tightly as the confines of her current position will allow in order to avoid letting slip some noise that would further incriminate Clarke.

Lexa feels Clarke’s fists tighten in her hair. In answer, she does not relent but applies another long, firm stoke with the flat of her tongue. This time Clarke bites back a yelp and her body shudders. Lexa can feel her girlfriend’s back arch ever so slightly and then go rigid, and then Clarke’s iron grip on her scalp finally slackens.

Lexa inhales shakily, and as she comes up for air, turning her attention inward for the first time in a quarter of an hour, she realizes that, under the table, she is a mess. She wants more than anything to kiss Clarke. A slow, lingering kiss that would give Lexa a chance seal the moment under her skin. But this is a logistical impossibility. She needs to get herself together.

Clarke has this way of making Lexa feel raw — like a live wire — like her nerve endings have been multiplied by a factor of ten. Imaging the punishment she will no doubt be in for after she resurfaces and helps Clarke, whose legs are still visibly trembling, back to their apartment and into bed certainly does nothing to help Lexa recompose herself. She smiles as her whole body burns at the prospect.


End file.
